


Bits of Stuff 3

by kestra_troi



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alpha Scott, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Porn, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Artists, Ass to Mouth, Background Relationships, Bestiality, Blow Jobs, Bodybuilder Sam, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Bottom Jackson Whittemore, Bottom Robb Stark, Bottom Sam Winchester, Bottom Scott, Bottom Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Brother/Brother Incest, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Clothed Sex, Come Eating, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Come play, Coming In Pants, Conditioning, Daddy Issues, Deepthroating, Dehumanization, Dirty Talk, Dom Loki (Marvel), Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Dubious Consent, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Fucking, Facials, Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Full Shift Werewolves, Handcuffs, Hellhounds, Inappropriate Behavior, Inspired by Novel, Internal Monologue, Jackson Whittemore Doesn't Leave, Jackson Whittemore is Part of the Pack, Jonmund Week, Jonmund Week 2020, Kelvin Timeline (Star Trek), Knotting, List of headcanons, M/M, Masturbation in Office, Mentions of Rape, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Misogyny, Modeling, Mpreg, Multi, No Sex, No Smut, No Underage Sex, Not Canon Compliant, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Notfic, OTP Feels, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV First Person, POV Original Character, POV Ramsay Bolton, Pantyhose Kink, Piss Play, Plants, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Watching, Pornstar Sam, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Praise Kink, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Random & Short, Rare Pairings, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sam Winchester Has a Large Cock, Scents & Smells, Season/Series 15, Sex Pollen, Sex in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Shameless Smut, Short & Sweet, Sibling Incest, Stockings, Sub Robb Stark, Sub Thor (Marvel), Suit Sex, Top Liam, Top Sam Winchester, Under-negotiated Kink, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, Watersports, Werewolf Jackson Whittemore, Wet & Messy, Wet Clothing, Wordcount: 100-500, Xenophilia, dean in pantyhose, golden showers, jon snow is an artist, sex with a plant, ship headcanons, story idea, top roose bolton, tormund is a model
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-10-27 21:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kestra_troi/pseuds/kestra_troi
Summary: This is a place for all my smutty bits and random story pieces. Each chapter is unconnected unless noted. All kinks and pairings will be listed here in the summary.Chp 1: Wincest Not!Fic [Pantyhose Kink, Foot Jobs]Chp 2: Scoyd Heacanons [Domestic, Human AU]Chp 3: Ramsay x OFC [Bookstore AU]Chp 4: Wincest Snippet [Bunker Sex, Oral Sex]Chp 5: Sheriff Stilinski has some thoughts about Steter [Internal Monologue]Chp 6: The Winchester Brothers x Two Hellhounds [CRACK, Bestiality, Knotting]Chp 7: Scott McCall x Supernatural Flower [Xenophilia, Sex With A Plant]Chp 8: Vampire!Stiles AU Fic Idea [Steter Potential]Chp 9: Scott x Jackson's First Kiss [Drabble]Chp 10: Khan Noonien Singh x OFC [AU, First Meetings, Neighbors]Chp 11: Robb Stark x Roose Bolton [Modern/Office AU, Unhealthy Relationship]Chp 12: Jonmund [Model/Artist AU, Fragment]Chp 13: Scott x Liam [Human AU, Blowjob, Liam is 18]Chp 14: Thorki [Post Ragnarok AU, Watersports]Chp 15: Robb x Roose Office Sequel [Anal Sex, Rough Sex]Chp 16: Swesson [AU, Masturbation, Porn watching]Chp 17: Scackson MPreg Not!fic [Full Shift, College-Aged]





	1. Wincest Not!Fic [Pantyhose Kink, Foot jobs, Dean in Pantyhose]

Sam once let it slip that the hottest sex he and Jess ever had was when she put on her stockings/pantyhose and gave him a slow footjob that ended with him fucking her feet. Dean takes note of this, but doesn’t do anything with it for years. Not until they find and move into the bunker. 

Then one day, Sam comes home and heads to his room after a hunt to find Dean lying on his side in his bed with nothing on but a pair of black pantyhose. “Hiya, Sammy!” 

“Dean, wha--are you--” Sam stammers, open mouthed for a while as his cheeks flush and he realizes what Dean is wearing. His eyes are glued to his brother’s legs, his stockinged feet. 

Dean is laughing at his awestruck brother patting himself on the back for a job well done. He swans over onto his stomach waving his feet up in the air like a pin-up girl or a pornstar. “Does this make my ass look fat?”

Sam turns a deep shade of red, aware that he’s been staring. He gulps and clears his throat. “So, uh, what’s, uh, what’s going on?”

“Just thought I’d do something nice for ya, Sammy,” Dean proclaims. “Figured the guy that shot God deserved a treat. We’re servin’ up the works, tonight! Whattaya say, Sammy?”

“I can’t believe you remembered,” Sam mutters unable to process the sight of his macho brother in nothing but pantyhose. “Did-did you...shave your legs?”

Refusing to answer the question, Dean slides down and sits on the edge of Sam’s bed with his legs crossed. “Why don’t you come over here and find out..._bitch_?”

“Jerk,” Sam returns automatically with a relieved smile on his face. He indeed walks over and drops to his knees in front of his brother. He raises his eyebrows. Dean grins and nods. 

Tentatively, Sam reaches out and traces his fingers up his brother’s calf. They both shiver. Dean is smooth under the nylon, not a single hair. “How did you--when did you--?”

“I’ve got ways, egghead,” Dean jokes. He brings his foot up to Sam’s crotch and presses his toes against Sam’s bulge. He smiles as Sam gasps, instinctually bucking into his foot. Dean retracts his foot. “You ready to go, Sammy?”

Sam can only nod. 

“Grab a chair,” Dean suggests and Sam is on his feet dragging his desk chair over towards his bed. He sits down. Dean goes for it, dragging his stockinged toes up his brother’s calf and over his knee, just to see Sam squirm. He tickles his toes against Sam’s erection and Sam grabs for him. 

“Whoa, easy there, tiger. Hands off,” he instructs. Sam reluctantly grips the armrest on both sides. “You’re in my world, now.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam taunts. 

“Ridiculously sexy,” Dean corrects. He presses the heel of his foot along the bulge in Sam’s jeans. Sam sharply inhales, knuckles going white on the armrests, but he doesn’t touch. “Right, Sammy?”

Sam stares at his brother through half lidded eyes already gone on how hot this all is. “Dean...”

“I gotcha, Sammy,” Dean replies, kneading his brother’s dick through the denim with the balls of his feet. Sam shudders, head lolling back. He’s panting. “You’re in good <strike>hands</strike>. Feet.”

That pulls a laugh out of Sam and they go from there. 

Dean has him pull down his jeans. 

Dean teases him for awhile bringing Sam to the edge a couple of times before he even lets him take off his underwear. The boxer briefs stick to the head of his cock, leaking as he is. They go down on top of his jeans, pooling around the tops of his boots. 

Then Dean really gets started.

He hits him with the dirty talk because he knows Sam’s got a weakness for it. Saying things like, “You gonna come on my feet, Sammy? You gonna fuck my feet, Sammy? You gonna shoot your load all over my toes and lick it up?” 

Sam is basically losing his mind at this point. Barely coherent, pretty much focused solely on his brother’s surprisingly dexterous feet. The noises he’s making turn on Dean like nothing else, so he’s got a hand down his pantyhose, stroking his own erection while he teases his brother to the brink. “Do it, Sammy,” Dean mutters breathless himself. “Come for me, little brother.” 

“Dean!” Sam wails. He shoots his load all over his brother’s feet, easily soaking through the thin nylon material. 

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean swears, jerking off furiously to his brother’s primal orgasm. Sam comes down enough to watch Dean through hooded eyes. Now that the game is done, he gingerly picks up Dean’s foot and brings it to his mouth, never taking his eyes from Dean’s gaze. He licks the sole from heel to toes and Dean tenses, his come oozing out of the crotch of his pantyhose. He never knew his feet could be erogenous like that. 

They sit and catch their respective breaths. “Tell me those aren’t the only pair you bought.”

“I’m not gonna keep buying them just so you can ruin ‘em, Sammy,” Dean retorts. Sam hits him with the puppy dog eyes and Dean grins.  “I mean you  got jizz everywhere, dude!” 

Sam huffs through his nose and stands up. Stepping over to his brother, he kneels and sucks the come trapped in the nylon fibers near Dean’s crotch. Dean sighs, his hands threading through Sam’s long locks. “Think we could go again?”

Dean shrugs. “They’re already ruined.”

And so it goes.


	2. Scoyd Domestic, Human AU Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some headcanons I have for one of my rarest rarepairs that I wrote back in 2016 and figured I should go ahead and post it.

**Who makes friends with the neighbors?**

Scott is the more outgoing one, so he is definitely the one most likely to make friends with new people the soonest. Boyd makes friends too, but he usually goes at a slower pace. It takes time for him to trust and open up to new people. In the end, though, both of them are equally loved by their neighbors because they’ll help their friends and neighbors out anytime, with anything. A true, softhearted power couple. 

**Who stays up to 2 AM reading?**

Scott will do this if he’s  _ really _ caught up in something, but Boyd is usually the culprit since he’s the bigger reader.

**Who is the cuddler?**

They both love to cuddle. Scott is more affectionate in public while Boyd prefers cuddling up with his bae when they’re alone or among close friends. 

**Who does the cooking?**

Both of them cook on occasion, but neither of them does it regularly. They like to eat out.

**Who does the decorating?**

Scott and Boyd are hopeless when it comes to decorating their living spaces, so they usually end up with their friends coming over to do the decorating for them. Lydia, Erica, Isaac, and Stiles handle all their home décor (and a large part of their wardrobes).

**Who wants or mentions kids?**

Boyd wants a large family. Scott for a while was on the fence. He wants kids too, but he wants to make sure they’re ready to handle being parents. To that end they’ve babysat for their friends as much as they can, which they’ve both loved, and have had talks with parents, so they could ask all their burning questions. After all that, they decided to wait a little bit longer before having kids until they’re in a better place financially. Erica (offered) and agreed to be their surrogate, so when the time is right Jackson will draw up the papers (since he is the group’s lawyer).

**Who plans date nights?**

Since they’re both romantic people they take turns planning dates. From the start of their relationship they made an agreement to have at least one night a week with just the two of them for the health of their relationship.

**Who fell in love with whom first?**

Scott always falls in love hard and fast. He told Boyd that he loved him within months of officially dating. Boyd didn’t begrudge him, but he didn’t say he loved Scott until they had been together for nearly a year. 

**Who sings in the showers?**

Scott. Loudly.

**Do they keep the lights on or off during sex?**

On. Boyd loves how expressive Scott is in general, but especially in the bedroom, so he likes to have the lights on. Plus, they’re both givers, so they like  _ seeing _ how much/how well they’re pleasing each other. Scott can be a little self-conscious sometimes, like when he feels he’s put on weight after not hitting the gym enough, so sometimes he likes to do it with the lights off, but typically he’ll defer to Boyd’s wishes cause no matter what Boyd makes him feel like he’s the most attractive man in the world.

**Do they ever fight?**

Sometimes. They’re both passionate people, so sometimes they do clash, but whatever they argue about is usually resolved before too long because neither of them like the tension. Scott typically leads off the reconciliation since he’s the peacemaker. 

**How did they meet?**

They knew each other in high school and became friends their junior year. They didn’t start dating until they were in college.


	3. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new customer walks into the bookstore where Ramsay works and he gets some ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was obviously inspired by YOU written by Caroline Kepnes. I read that book in November and got hit with the Ramsay-vibes.

Crop top, no bra... 

Oh, you little skank. 

I smile as you walk through my door, backlit by the afternoon sun. Your top isn’t thin enough to see through, but even the stripes aren’t enough to hide the curves your so proud of. You’ve got great tits, babe. I can practically feel their fullness in my hands already. Good heft, perky. My hands itch. 

I want you. 

Want to touch that soft skin. All those curves. 

You’re not the kind of girl I usually go for. Those petite, slim girls with little bird bones. You are solid. A real Earth Mother vibe with your black and white striped crop top and flower print skirt that hugs your round hips. I’ve caught you in the sweet spot between virgin and mother when you’re still young enough to be skanky, but old enough not to be a whore. You don’t pop your cork for every guy you see, no matter what your bralessness would make them believe. 

I like your confidence. Fearlessness. Are you wearing panties, babe? You probably are, but for me when we’re together you won’t. I am going to take you, have you, fuck you everywhere and anywhere. In my scenario you’re always prepped for me. Underwearless and shameless. I’d love to shove you against the stacks and have you right here, right now. 

You’d fight me. You’d go down swinging, but you’d still go down with me on top of you and inside you. Yes, it would be rape, but we could get passed that. In time, you’d learn to love it. You’d learn to take it happily, whether you were wet or not, whether you wanted it or not. My hands clench into fists.

You’ve got spirit, babe. I can tell just by looking at you while you glance around the shelves. That fire, that spark. It calls to me, babe. You call to me. You want this. You want me to see you, to notice you, to want you. 

And I do. 

You little skank. 

I can’t wait to chase you.

Relaxing my hands, I help out some loser. He doesn’t make small talk thank God, but he does have this awkward, twitchy I-need-to-crawl-back-in-my-hole-and-jerk-off-to-tranny-porn kinda vibe and I am so glad he’s gone before you arrive. 

You come right up to me, books in hand, ready to purchase. 

You smile at me. 

I smile back.

So far, so good, babe.

You have a beautiful smile, babe. Not too many teeth, not too shallow. You mean it. You like to make people smile, to make them happy. Oh, baby, am I going to have fun with you. Opposites attract they say. And you are proving the rule. With that smile…

Yeah, you want this. You want it bad. 

How long has it been, babe, since you’ve been satisfied by a man? Earth Mothers are always hungry. Voracious. I like that. You got a little pudge, but I can work with that. You may not be a supermodel, but you’re no fat cow either. You take care of yourself and that’s good, babe. Means you’re ready. 

But when you’re with me, you won’t need to worry. I’ll take care of you. 

I’ve never tried an Earth Mother before, seemed like too much work. But, you’ve made a convert out of me, babe. Bet you got a great-tasting cunt. I’m so hard right now thinking about your cunt, while I’m ringing you up. Staring down your shirt at the top of your pale tits, imaging your pussy all wet and bittersweet. Thank God for the counter between us. Don’t want to spook you. Not yet. 

_ The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo _ , a popular book for chicks. Not enough sex or action for me, babe, but go for it. A girl your age needs to be up on the ‘faves’. You’ll read it, like it, and talk about it with your girlfriends. It won’t rock your world, not like I will, but you’ll enjoy it. 

“This is a good book,” I tell you, as I scan the barcode. “You’ll like it.”

“That’s what I hear,” you say. What a tease. You’re one slight breeze away from flashing your tits at the world and you won’t give me more than a throwaway affirmation. 

God! Raping you would be so much fun, babe. 

Don’t worry, though, I know you’re not that kind of girl.

You are not the one-and-done, use’em up and dump’em type. Some girls that’s all they’re good for. One-hit wonders. You though, you got more to give. Hidden behind your showy smile and your awesome tits there’s a whole world in there waiting for me to plunder. And I will, babe. You can count on that. 

_ If We Were Villains _ ? Pretentious, Shakespeare crap. Babe. Seriously? Were you a fat theater kid in school? Did one of your English teachers touch you in a bad place? I mean murders are exciting and all, but you can do better, babe. This is tame shit. Literary thriller shit. 

“Are you into Shakespeare?”

“Not really,” you admit with a shrug, grinning like you’ve been a naughty girl who’s been caught sneaking cookies. “Some of his stuff is okay, but I actually have to read this for a class.”

Class, huh? You’re too old to be in high school. Not that you look old, babe, but a girl your size can only pull off seventeen for so long. You’re not some skinny, stick of a thing that could pass for twelve under the right conditions. You, babe, are a woman. My woman. “College?”

You nod. “Parttime.”

“Gotta work, huh?”

“Yeah, don’t we all.” Blue collar roots. I can hear it in your voice. The bitterness of not being able to afford the latest thing growing up, of working over summer breaks, of missing out on vacations and trendy clothes and concerts. I know how you feel, babe. I really do. And when you’re with me, I’ll make sure and get you pretty things from time to time. When you’re a good girl. 

Your third book, I haven’t read. Don’t recognize the title or the author, couldn’t care less. I ring it up all the same. Obscure. You don’t mind searching, trying out new things. That’s good, babe. So many chicks are close-minded, scared of the world, and they’re not wrong to be, I’m proof positive of that, but not you. 

You are curious. A small risk taker. Nothing too extreme. Just an odd book here, a stolen lipstick there. Maybe a little flirting to get out of a ticket. You’ve certainly got the rack for it. Man, I can’t wait to get my hands on you! Your tits were made to be played with, babe. I mean it. You’ve got a body meant to be used. And I’ve got dibs.

When you’re mine, I’m going to leave my mark. Bites on your tits, bruises on your thighs, handprints on your ass. And you just begging for more like the painslut you are. Or will be, at any rate. You’ll learn to love the pain, babe. I’ll teach you. After all, pain and pleasure go hand in hand like life and death. You can’t have one without the other. And I promise to show you just how good all of it can feel! 

You pay with your debit card like a good girl. Guine Roots? Wow. Guinevere would be an odd enough name for a white girl, but to shorten it to Guine and not Gwen? Your parents are assholes, babe. No two ways about it. “Guine. Cool name.”

“Oh, thanks,” you say, the surprise clear in your voice. Poor thing. Do people call you Gwine like wine or Gweene like green? Most people are idiots. Forget them, babe. Me? I’m not an idiot, which you’ll discover for yourself soon enough. “I think you’re like the third person ever to get it right on the first try.”

I shrug, playing it cool. “You see a lot of names in retail,” I explain. I tear your receipt free and bag your books, handing them over to you with a flirty wink. 

You blush, just a bit. Pretty and pink. “Thank you, Ramsay,” you tell me after reading my name tag. It’s a nice change of pace for someone to read it without immediately yelling for a manager. You got class, babe. And none of that self-righteous, entitled bullshit that so often goes with it. 

“Every time,” I reply. That makes you chuckle. “You’re welcome, Guine.”

“See you around,” you offer as you take your new books and head out. There’s no doubt: you want me. Of course you do. I know how hot I am. Plus, I got your name right and made you laugh. I’m in. 

I watch your little ass swish side to side. The little bell above the door dings and you are gone, but I’m still hard as a fucking rock, babe. You got me so hot, I ditch the register and instantly head to the far back corner where all the reference books are kept. 

I rub one out into the ST through SY volume of one our dictionary collections. I do this a lot when I’m bored. I’ve busted a nut into each volume of every single dictionary on these shelves. I figure any dumbass stupid enough to buy a physical dictionary deserves to find semen-spots on their pages. 

Today’s selection is from shelf three out of five. I’m halfway through our stock and it’s only March. But today, right now, I bust my load in record time because of you, babe. You’ve got me going, Guine. Had me hard just looking at you, just imaging hearing you moan and scream my name while I’m buried inside your sweet cunt. 

Streptococcus has never been so sexy, babe as it is with my jizz all over that page with thoughts of you running around my head. 

You are going to be so much fun. 


	4. Jawbreakers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives Sam a blowjob in the Bunker.

For all the trouble they had moving it into the Bunker, the couch did fit perfectly in the space Dean had made for it in his room. Sam sat in the middle, legs spread wide, hands clutching the soft, well-loved cushions on either side as his brother--his brother knelt on the floor in front of him, his head bobbing up and down while his hand stroked his shaft. Sam’s eyes drifted listlessly around the room, always falling, always returning to Dean, his brother. His brother!

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream or growl. His mind whirred a million miles a second, unable to process what he was seeing and feeling: his brother’s plush lips stretched thin over his dick, his brother’s flushed cheeks, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of his throat never quite going past that point until…

Sam mewled, hands clenching the cushions too tightly. His bit his lip, stifling himself, unwilling to break the surreal energy in the room by being too loud. Dean gagged and pulled off with a wet slurp. He sniffled, wiping the wet corners of his eyes with the back of his hand while Sam sank back into the couch. 

“Gotta real jawbreaker, there, Sammy,” Dean quipped, his voice a little ragged around the edges despite his attempt at humor. 

Sam blushed. “You don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Dean interjected, looking Sam dead in the eye. Sam’s mouth quirked into a weak smile hearing that defiant, decisive Dean-in-charge tone of voice again. It had been too long. Sam released the couch cushions and wiped his sweaty hands on his jean clad thighs. “Just lemme catch my breath.”

Dean began stroking his shaft again and Sam tensed, hands grabbing his knees. Clearing his throat Dean sniffed a few more times and looked up at his brother. Gently, he smacked the tip of Sam’s dick against his cheek the way they do in porn, the way some girls had done to him over the years. 

Sam’s hands balled into fists which tumbled off his knees and back down to the cushions under him. He held them for dear life. A small moan escaped him. Dean grinned, smug, smiling up at his slack-jawed brother. “Always knew you were big down here, Sammy,” he teased, using both hands now to work Sam’s erection. “But Jesus!”

“Dean,” Sam grumbled, eyes squeezed shut as he bucked his hips into his brother’s familiar, calloused grip. Redness returned to his cheeks. 

“Hey, look at me, Sam,” Dean demanded. Sam peeked at his brother out from under his bangs. “Your dick is beautiful.”

Incredulous, Sam huffed, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth despite his intentions. “Dean--”

“Seriously, dude,” Dean continued. “We’re talking Heidi Klum levels of pretty. Would I waste my time on an ugly dick?”

Sam let himself smile and shook his head. “No.”

“Damn straight.” Dean skimmed his hands along his brother’s dick like a sculptor molding clay: trying to memorize every inch, every weak spot, every vein as to better work the piece. 

“Now, lemme get back to making you feel good,” Dean murmured, lowering his head. His eyes snapped back up to his brother. “Is it feeling good, right?”

Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. “Yeah,” he replied. “It feels good, Dean.”

That was all Dean needed to hear. He flicked his tongue around the leaking slit, causing Sam to shiver and moan under his breath before diving in again working the shaft with his mouth and his hand in tandem. “You feel...amazing,” Sam admitted, his head plonking backwards onto the backrest of the couch. “Oh my G--!”


	5. ruminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Stilinski has some issues with his son's choice of partner, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I wrote this out thinking it would lead to a smutty fic, but that didn't end up happening. Instead of leaving this fragment to waste away on my digital shelf I popped it on here. Hope y'all enjoy!

He should’ve shot him when he’d had the chance. That’s all he can think about when Stiles brings his new boyfriend around. Or manfriend or whatever other weird name his son gives his way-too-old-for-him partner. Peter Hale is the worst. 

Rich? Yes. Handsome? Sure. A decent person? No. A good match for his son? Absolutely not. But Noah bears it as well as he can. He threatens Peter with wolfsbane-infused bullets and makes it clear that he will murder him if the werewolf does anything to hurt Stiles in any way. 

Being the asshole he is, Peter just smiled and made some backhanded remark about him seeing where Stiles got his temper from. Noah nearly shot him right then and there, but he gritted his teeth and held back. Because, and only because he hadn’t seen Stiles so carefree and stable and well-rested since back before all the supernatural crap began. Since before Claudia...As long as Peter keeps it that way, he’ll keep his gun holstered. Or at the very least not pointed directly at Peter’s temple. 

A man can only take so much.

He does his best not to think about them as a couple. It's better for his heart and blood pressure and general health not to think about the two of them being intimate and together and everything that that entails. Peter Hale is garbage, but his son is a grown man and can make his own decisions. If he wants to be with a man old enough to be his uncle, then alright. Maybe it's just a phase. Maybe it’s just one of those reactions to all the awfulness, the trauma. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t always been the best father. 

Whatever the reason, he has to stand by his son and trust in him. Otherwise he’ll end up committing murder every time he catches Peter  _ ogling  _ his only child like he’s a tasty snack. But, oh boy, do the murder scenarios get more and more vivid every time he sees them kiss or cuddle or call each other disgusting pet names. 

And they get especially violent when Stiles and Peter make jokes about their love life. 

He contents himself with the knowledge that some day Peter Hale will die. Once and for all. Permanently. Forever. And as he stuffs his face with whatever healthy nonsense Stiles shoved at him, he prays that he will be alive to see it. The end of Peter Hale. That’s something worth giving up hamburgers for.


	6. A Couple Dog Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes back to the motel to find Dean in bed between two hellhounds. Now, he wants a turn. 
> 
> This is CRACK!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed this up back in November of 2019 after finding it in one of my old writing journals.
> 
> As a bit of world-building in this AU hellhound come has certain addictive, aphrodisiac qualities, like a supernatural Viagra.

Shivering…

Simultaneously feverish and chilled, Dean gripped the motel sheets beneath him tightly while the two hellhounds continued pumping him full of their come. Black spots danced in his vision with Cavall’s cock still lodged against the back of his throat, his lips stretched wide around the hellhound’s knot. He was drowning. His dick valiantly twitched, trying to harden, but since he had already come so many times in a row he couldn’t get it up again. Yet. 

A key entered the lock to their room. Dean’s eyes snapped to his left, but he could barely see the door in his periphery. He hoped to God it was just Sam. The door opened. 

“Hey,” his brother called. Dean instantly relaxed, sinking into the sweat-damp, come-stained bedspread. “I brought lun--Whoa...”

Dean made a strained, choked noise, cheeks flushing bright red. He flailed his arms trying to communicate his lack of control over the situation. Sam cleared his throat and Cavall, loyal pup he was, turned his ass to Dean, the move enough to free the hellhound’s cock from his throat. Dean gurgled, panting harshly through his nose for his long awaited, long needed breath. 

Sam chuckled dropping the bag of hamburgers and fries he had bought onto the motel table. “You know one of these days you’re going to suffocate on a hellhound’s knot and no one is going to save you.”

Shrugging, Dean kept gulping down Cavall’s thick, spicy load. Not that he had much choice: swallow or drown. Excess come leaked out from the corners of his mouth, leaving faintly warm dribbles of jizz running down his chin. 

With a quiet sigh, Sam strolled over to the bed, petting his hellhound fondly around the ear. Cavall’s tail thumped against the mattress. “I can’t believe you,” Sam complained, catching some of Cavall’s run-off with his thumb. “Here I was actually working the case while you stayed behind and had sex with the dogs.” 

Orthus barked at being mentioned. Sam sucked his thumb clean, his cock hardening in his slack almost immediately as the unique flavor hit his tongue. Orthus barked again and instinctively Sam began scritching Orthus behind his ear too. Both hellhounds beat their tails to a happy rhythm. 

Panting, Orthus licked the sweat from Dean’s neck, his warm tongue leaving goosebumps on his owner’s skin. Sam huffed and stopped petting the dogs. Orthus turned now, his knot rubbing against Dean’s battered prostate as his orgasm slowed. Dean groaned, his hand automatically going to his spent cock by habit. 

“You are such a knotslut,” Sam quipped while loosening his tie. He pulled the blue fabric off over his head and tossed it behind him onto the table. He undid his collar button and a couple others before removing his suit jacket. He stepped away to drape his jacket on the back of one of their motel room chairs and Cavall followed, his knot wilted enough to pull free of Dean’s mouth. 

With a sigh, Dean delicately thumbed the corners of his overworked jaws. “Not my fault,” he hoarsely insisted. He cleared his throat and sniffled, wiping the tears from his eyes, the sweat from his forehead, and the come from his chin with the back of his hands. “It was the dogs, Sammy. The minute you left, they showed up. Horny as hell. What was I to do?”

“Maybe  _ not  _ have sex with them,” Sam suggested. He sat down in the rickety motel chair and pointedly began taking out the fast food he had brought for lunch. Not that his brother would be willing or able to eat for awhile. “You know that is an option right?”

“Not really,” Dean airily replied.

“You’re ridiculous.” Cavall dug his snout into Sam’s groin, startling a gasp out of his owner. Caught off guard, Sam watched his dog sniff eagerly at his erection before he gently pushed Cavall away. 

“As if you’re any better,” Dean shot right back. He groaned unhappily, his hands going to his distended stomach. He could feel the heat of the hellhounds’ come through his skin. He let out a sulfuric burp and waved the stink away.

“They kept taking turns,” Dean half-explained, half-whined, tenderly rubbing his bloated stomach. “So full, Sammy...”

Right at that moment, Orthus pulled away, leaving Dean’s red hole, puffy and gaping. Sam stared at his brother’s wrecked ass dripping a steady stream of watery hellhound jizz. He licked his lips, his cock throbbing in his slacks. Cavall nosed his crotch again, flicking his warm tongue at Sam’s slit through his pants. Sam shuddered, his cheeks going pink.

Without even thinking, he got to his feet, the casefile and the food forgotten. Cavall barked cheerfully, hopping on his front legs with excitement. Sam walked over to his overburdened brother. Cavall yipped, following Sam’s footsteps, headbutting him along his way. “I want a taste.” 

Dean nodded, pulling himself fully upright with the help of the motel headboard. Sam crawled onto the bed and laid on his back, scooting towards Dean until his face rested beneath his brother’s messy, dripping hole. Warm drops of jizz splattered onto his forehead. Sam groaned as the stuff rained down in warm, heavy drops. 

He smeared the jizz into his skin and brought his fingers to his mouth. Brimstone and ash and sulfur exploded on his tongue, sharper and more intense than his earlier taste. Dean’s stomach audibly gurgled. 

“Oh, God--”

Sam barely had time to open his mouth wide enough to seal his lips around Dean’s loose hole before a flood of jizz erupted, thick and hot with a kick that made his eyes water. It hit his system like a ton of bricks. Sam gasped, his head plopping into the soiled sheets. His cock pulsed, almost painfully, from the rush. Sam moaned, shuddering as Cavall just then resumed licking at his leaking slit through his slacks. “Good boy,” he panted, blindly reaching out to pet his pet. 

“Sammy...” Dean warned a moment too late. He farted and a deluge of come erupted from his hole with surprising force, coating Sam’s torso in jizz. 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Sam groaned as the still-warm come soaked through his suit like tissue paper. He leaned upwards, swiping his tongue around his brother’s slick hole and into it, digging for more. Hellhound jizz didn’t taste good per se, and it was always unnaturally hot no matter how much time had passed since it had been ejaculated, but he still couldn’t get enough of the thick, hellish stuff. He grabbed his brother’s hips and seated Dean firmly on his face. His brother whimpered. 

Shaky and sensitive, Dean tugged his worn out cock back to hardness in search of relief. 

Having been largely left out up to this point, Orthus returned to the bed where all the action was taking place. He sniffed the mix of come absorbed in and sitting on Sam’s clothes and then searched lower with his snout. He passed by Cavall who growled to keep away from his owner’s erection, and ended up between Sam’s legs trying to nose his way to Sam’s covered hole. 

Automatically, Sam raised his legs into the air to give Orthus better access. He shivered as the hellhound’s warm, almost too-hot tongue, swiped repeatedly over his clothes-covered hole with perfect aim. The dog was nothing if not single-minded. Of the two, Orthus almost always exclusively liked ass, while Cavall was more variable in his preferences.

With his hole being stimulated, and his cock being licked like an ice cream cone, and his mouth full of hellhound jizz it didn’t take long for Sam to reach his first orgasm of the day. He spurted, heavily into his underwear without a care. His suit was ruined already anyway. There was no point in being precious about it. 

Lifting up off his brother’s face, Dean whined softly as he shot his meager load. The first couple spurts landed on Sam’s forehead while the last few drizzles ended up in his open mouth. Sam swallowed his brother’s load, practically tasteless compared to that of the hellhounds. 

Officially done, Dean heaved a sigh and plopped onto the bed beside his brother, his head by Sam’s feet. The dogs moved away and Sam let his legs drop as the two humans caught their breaths. Dean burped again, longer this time and then blew the stench away in a puff. “Their trying to knock me up, Sammy,” he tiredly mumbled. “I swear to God. I think they’re like in heat or whatever.”

“Rut,” Sam corrected. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “They knotted my ass so many times I thought I was gonna burst. Something is definitely up.”

“No, you’re just a knotslut.”

“Jealous bitch,” Dean playfully sneered, bumping his brother’s middle. 

“Jerk,” Sam returned. Cavall came forward, licking at Sam’s come-covered face and into his open mouth. Sam sagged, letting his pet do what he liked. Orthus in the meantime tentatively flicked his tongue slowly along the dip of Dean’s spine all the way down to his abused hole. 

“Oh my God!.” Dean shook, but still bent his leg so his dog could get his scraping tongue back into his hole. “See what I mean? Horny.”

“Insatiable,” Sam agreed. He kicked off his dress shoes and fumbled with his belt. The dogs seemed game for another round. Dean, despite his quiet moans, was down for the count, but Sam wasn’t. 

Pushing down his tacky, soiled boxers and his slacks, Sam wriggled them out from under him and Dean helpfully yanked them off. His bottom half exposed now, Sam slathered the insoluble jizz still pooled on the surface of his dress shirt onto his fingers and raised his legs back into the air. He painted his rim with the stuff and slid two fingers inside. “Here, Orthus,” he commanded, turning his head to the side. “Come here, boy.”

The bigger of the two hellhounds didn’t need to be told twice. Deserting Dean, he ambled to the foot of the bed and leapt onto the mattress his cock already unsheathed. Dean groaned at the loss of sensation yet shimmied lower. 

Reaching into his gaping hole he dug the last bits of come out and smeared it into his brother’s hole. Orthus wasn’t enormous by human standards, but he certainly was bigger than the average man. Plus, he had a knot. Taking out another handful, Dean gripped Orthus’ cock and coated the length, slowly guiding his dog into his brother. 

Breached, Sam moaned, his dick which had started to harden now wilted. Torn between his owner’s sticky face and equally sticky junk, Cavall alternated between the two while Orthus fucked into Sam leisurely. The damned dog was taking his time. 

Now that Sam was being taken care of and generally being taken, Dean rolled onto his side and then onto his feet. He swayed, groaning at being vertical. He walked towards the bathroom even more bowlegged than usual with nearly his whole fist up his ass to keep from making too much of a mess. “You be their bitch for awhile,” he grumbled. “I’m taking a bath.”

Sam didn’t respond. 

He was much too busy getting deep-dicked by a hellhound to form sentences.


	7. Scott Versus The Evil, No-Good Sex Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott has sex with a supernatural flower. That's it. That's the whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this for Kinktober this year, but wasn't happy with it overall. Didn't post it then, but I don't want it sitting on my desktop for the next zillion years collecting (digital) dust.

On his first night back in town, while patrolling-slash-strolling through the Preserve, Scott came across a foreign scent he couldn’t place. Floral, but with musky undercurrents and a dash of something spicy that made his mouth water. Curious, he tracked the scent hidden deeper between the trees and carried on the wind. He came to a small clearing.

In the dark, he could just make out what looked to be an enormous flower growing in the middle of a tree trunk on the other side of the grassy area. It looked something like that flower that was supposed to smell really bad. Like a corpse, but this one smelled  _ good _ . 

A warning went off in his brain and Scott glanced around. He closed his eyes. All he could hear were the usual sounds of animal life in the Preserve. All he could smell was That Smell that made him think of sunlight and skin and men. Biting his bottom lip, Scott moved in closer just to be sure the smell was in fact coming from the weird flower and not something else in the clearing. That’s reasonable. Right?

He followed his nose and it lead him straight to the tree with the giant flower growing out of its trunk. Up-close the smell was even stronger, more concentrated. The flower reeked of men and...sex. Scott blushed, his dick twitching in his jeans. 

The five petals were large and red and there was a cavity in the middle of the flower. Scott peeked inside and then did a double take. Something inside was iridescent, glowing in the moonlight. Scott shuffled closer--

A puff of pollen engulfed his head and Scott stepped back sputtering. He waved his hands in front of his face to clear away the spores, coughing. His eyes watered, he swallowed to clear away the lump in his throat. Wiping the tears from his eyes he studied the flower silently. 

Nothing had changed. 

Except the iridescence was gone. 

Scott shook his head, heat suddenly rushing to his cheeks. 

Below the flower, lower down on the trunk, something began to unfurl. Scott watched, rapt. His knees began to shake, his heart pounded in his chest, and his dick throbbed against the seam of his pants. The new flower was shaped like a spigot with a small slit on the underside of the tip. Almost like...Scott flushed. 

The iridescence returned, this time peeking out of the slit in the new flower. Scott moaned as a wave of that scent washed over him, leaving his head pounding and cottony. His knees gave out. Panting harshly he stared at the bright glowing drop of whatever, mouth hanging open, dry and wet at the same time. 

He leaned forward and swiped his tongue over the slit to catch that delicious smelling...nectar? The taste exploded on his tongue, better than anything he could put a name to. Crawling forward on his hands and knees he suckled the tip for more. The ribbed, satiny texture of the petals felt strange in his mouth, fragile, but as he sucked out more of that mystery fluid the petals went rigid and warm. 

A sudden flood of nectar erupted into his mouth, overflowing down his chin. Scott swallowed. And swallowed. And swallowed. The flooding never stopped. He was drowning in it. Thick, creamy, and savory. Scott couldn’t stop. 

His cock was hard as a rock and ached in a way Scott couldn’t believe. Claws out, he tore the crotch of his jeans and boxers away, the cool night air hitting his overwarm skin like a ton of bricks. It did nothing to help the pain, in fact it made it worse. Scott stroked his cock desperate for relief. It helped a little.

But then, something moved down there near his crotch. Scott craned his neck to try and look down but he couldn’t take his mouth off the leaking flower. He groaned as something cool and velvety engulfed the head of his dick. Nothing had ever felt so good. Digging his claws into the trunk of the tree, Scott hauled himself closer burying his cock in the soft whatever. 

The thing seemed to welcome him in, a strange, rubbery suction pulling him deeper. Like how a bounce castle shifts you around. The inside of the thing was wet and warm and instantly relieved the ache. Scott grinded his hips into the feeling. 

The front of the thing around the base of his cock seemed to swell, locking him in place. Scott whined. His eyes rolled back as something began to undulate around his sensitive glans. He squirmed, but the plant held his dick too tightly for him to move it. Something in there pricked him, and he stilled, going boneless almost instantly. He was floating on a warm current. The nectar slowed to a more manageable trickle and he knelt there in the grass drinking every drop. 

The plant wrapped around his junk never let up. He shivered as he came, but he was already in the endorphin high. The ride never seemed to end. He lost all track of time. He shuddered and moaned with every orgasm, but they seemed small compared to his overall satisfaction. He floated. 

He floated.

He drank.

He came.

He floated.

A cycle with no end and no beginning. 

Scott woke up in the morning, exhausted and sated, in a pile of denim tatters. He brushed an odd, bluish green crust off his lips with the back of his hand. He stood a bit unsteadily and felt something wet between his cheeks. He reached down and found some sort of clear slick back there. 

He stumbled home and slept the rest of the day. 

Every night for a month, that scent followed him. Inside, outside. At home, at Stiles’, at the school. No matter where he went, the scent of that flower tracked him and called to him. 

And every night he wandered into the Preserve again and again. 

With a smile and a hard-on.


	8. Vampire!Stiles Fic Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where vampires exist and Stiles is one. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been mulling this around for years and just need it out of my brain-space.

So...

Vampires exist. _Homo Sapien Nocturnus_.

Like werewolves one can be born a vampire or turned, but unlike werewolves a Turned or Made vampire will never be as powerful or live as long as a Born vampire. Also unlike werewolves, vampires have been known to the world for much longer and have often been subject to violence and oppression due to their nocturnal existence and need for blood (human or animal). Stiles' grandmother was Made back in the day in Poland and banished to a settlement where she met and fell in love with a mortal man. She gave birth to Claudia, a dhampir (a half-vampire.) As a family they moved to the USA and she eventually fell in love with a mortal man as well. Stiles was born a dhampir, only 1/4th Vampire. As he is only a quarter Vampire he does not possess the same supernatural strength and agility as most Vampires do. Nor is he strictly nocturnal or reliant on blood, though he does drink [animal] blood from time to time for his health.

Blood drinking is highly regulated in the USA.

1) Vampires must be registered with the federal government [and depending on the state they must be registered there as well].

2) Vampires must have valid IDs which list their species. 

3) Vampires are not allowed to drink human blood without previously-written consent legitimized by a notary and approved by a judge.

4) Vampires must fill out paperwork annually to gain access to small amounts of anonymously donated human blood. 

Because Stiles is only a quarter Vampire he can function in the daytime pretty easily, but is still something of a night owl. Also because of his status he is able to attend the regular public school system rather than the nighttime classes. He is still friends with Scott and they are both nerds. 

Life for Stiles is difficult after his mother dies since she was one of the few Vampires he knew/was close to. Though he does (loosely) befriend Lydia Volesus Martinus aka Lydia Volera Martin, a Born Vampire blueblood: a descendent of an ancient Roman Vampire bloodline. He is close to the Hales who are the only family of werewolves nearby. 

Eventually, supernatural shenanigans ensue and Stiles gets hurt. He winds up in a hotel bathtub with Scott, Peter, and Derek dying and in need of blood. He can't drink Scott's since he's human/mortal, so instead he drinks Peter's blood. Which is allowed since Peter is a werewolf and thus not legally protected from being bitten by Vampires. A legal loophole they both rather appreciate. 

At first taste he doesn't care for it. "No offense, dude, but your blood tastes kinda...burnt."

"Burnt?"

"Like coffee," Stiles describes. He heals. 

I don't have any particular ship in mind besides maybe Steter, but this would be more a slice of life story rather than a smutty shipfest like I normally write. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anybody be interested in fleshing this out/writing this? I am more than happy to pass the idea to someone else. And maybe I can be just a Beta reader/coauthor/whatever. 
> 
> I just know I will never actually get around to writing this AU by myself.
> 
> If you're interested in let me know in the comments.


	9. A First Kiss Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Jackson share their first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got hit with the Scackson feels last night and this morning, so here's a short, sweet drabble for your reading pleasure. 
> 
> Comments and kudos welcome!

“God, you’re so stupid,” Jackson groused. Reaching out, he grabbed Scott by the sides of his face and hauled him into a kiss. He sighed, just a little, as Scott’s soft lips finally brushed against his own. Feeling better than he ever imagined.

Goal achieved, he allowed himself a few more moments of satisfaction before the lock in his mind clicked into place. He pushed Scott away more gently than he meant to, leaving him far too close for comfort. 

“Wha--”

“Don’t get any ideas, McCall,” he insisted, slipping back into his arrogant posture. “You’re still just a dumb--” 

“Will you shut up?” Scott growled. He took him by the neck and yanked him back into another kiss. Longer, fiercer, deeper. Jackson whimpered softly, his face flushed red now as Scott kissed him back properly: nipping at his plush bottom lip as if he owned it. 

Unclenching his fists, Jackson gingerly let his hands slip onto Scott’s hips. He felt Scott smile against his chin. And then they were kissing. 

Again. And again.  And again. 

Until they were dizzy from the lack of air, drunk off the taste of each other.


	10. Journeys end in lover's meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When someone new moves into her building, artist and Starfleet washout Mara McGovern takes notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mara's name is based on Marla McGivers who in the Original Series episode "Space Seed" falls in love with Khan. The two characters have basically nothing else in common.
> 
> Title is a quote from Shakespeare.

After hanging a new painting beside her door, she stood in her open doorway to catch a glimpse of her new neighbor as he carried a box into his apartment. Human male. Starfleet. Tall, pale. Good hands. And a cute little ass. 

Easily a vast improvement over her last neighbor: The Bolian, who like most of his species, had been much too chatty, much too cheerful and deeply, deeply grating. She had done her best to avoid that bothersome little alien and apparently had succeeded beyond all her expectations. She hadn’t even known he was moving out. She applauded him in her mind for leaving quietly. For doing anything quietly. 

The new man reemerged and she got her first look at his front. Long face with cheekbones that could’ve been cut from marble. Eyes of blue. A neutral expression that hid the raging fire inside. Passionate, yet simultaneously composed. He’d make a wonderful subject. So structural and poised. So primal. He met her gaze and for a few moments they simply stared silently at one another from across the hall. 

He made the first move by stepping properly into the hall. Now his eyes looked green. Different lighting, different color. They’d be a challenge to capture. Even strictly from a compository, technical point of view. On top of that how would she manage to paint their intensity, their unflinching hardness, their pain, their cunning? 

Here was a man who understood the savagery of loss. He knew brutality firsthand. There was a darkness lingering behind his uniform’s blind hopefulness. A knowing that went beyond books, beyond theory. 

That cinched it. His portrait would be one of her best works. He could be her David, her Mona Lisa. She smiled. “Welcome to the building.” 

“Thank you.” She did her best to suppress a shiver. His voice was smooth as velvet. Precise and low with an unmistakably English accent. She looked him over from head to toe. He had no overt reaction to her scrutiny, but she got the feeling that he was pleased. Something in the set of his shoulders, the slight softening of his stony exterior. 

“Everyone calls me Mara.” She held out her hand to shake. 

He examined her as thoroughly as she had studied him. She let him have his look. Her hand still extended, head up, a sly smile. His eyes met hers once more and he stepped forward taking her hand in his larger one. Smooth skin, warm and solid. A strong, controlled grip. 

They would feel amazing on her hips.

Trailing along her thighs. 

Her smile turned genuine. Who doesn’t love a man in uniform? 

“John.” A lie. “John Harrison.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Commander.”

The corner of his mouth turned upwards ever so slightly, clearly amused. His bottom lip was invitingly plump. “Very astute,” he said, his tone a mix of surprise and condescension and something else she couldn’t quite decipher. Satisfaction? An expectation met? Her chest filled with both annoyance and pride. She didn’t care for being treated like a ditz, but she had impressed him in some small way and he didn’t seem the type to be easily impressed. 

“Oh, yes, I’m known far and wide for my astuteness,” she quipped. Another little smile. “Section 31, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Simple deduction,” he asserted, not at all concerned with his privacy.

“Why on Earth would an agent want to move-in here?”

“Why indeed?”

She flashed him a smile that said, ‘Alright. Keep your secrets.’ 

Minutely, he nodded his head as if to say, ‘I will.’ 

She pulled her hand away from his; long overdue. She could get lost in those eyes of his, in his stoicism and wit. Aloof and unattainable. She liked a challenge. She changed the subject. “Have you ever had your portrait painted?”

“A long time ago,” he replied. 

“Have any interest in sitting for another?”

He arched his brow. “Are you any good?”

“Decide for yourself.” She shrugged, nodding her head in the direction of her newest creation hanging on the wall. While not galactically-renowned, she did fine work. It would be easy enough to research her catalogue, so there was no need for her to boast. Her work could stand on it’s own two feet. “Mara McGovern. Look me up.”

“I will,” he promised. 

“I’m free Wednesday afternoon.” Her offer laid out, she whirled around on her bare feet and swanned into her apartment giving him ample opportunity to get a look of her backside. Seemed only fair. 

She turned her face back to smile at him over her shoulder. She caught him openly staring and a warm thrill bloomed in her chest and spread quickly downwards. He couldn’t be described as traditionally beautiful, but he certainly possessed a gravitas to match his intense features. Her smile turned hungry. 

It wouldn’t be the first time she slept with one of her models. Plus, she had the sneaking suspicion that having sex with him would be a night for the record books. Her door whooshed closed on his superior, satisfied face. 

Oh, how she hoped he showed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been toying with Khan x OFC ideas for years. In 2019, I managed to write this and like one other chapter (maybe two I'll have to check) in this AU. I had the basic idea for the plot, but after writing the stuff I have other things took precedence and this one fizzled out. Is anybody interested here in 2020? 
> 
> Leave comments, questions, and kudos, please.


	11. Robbse (Roose x Robb) A Messed-Up Day At The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb struggles to run the family company after his father's sudden illness. But right now he's struggling with something else entirely. Someone else, entirely. Someone he never suspected. One of his father's advisers: Roose Bolton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually ship these two, but this story idea came and I had to write it. Dark Daddy Roose for the win I guess.

The man stood right behind him looking over his shoulder. Looming, actually. Robb had never met anyone like Mr. Roose Bolton VP of Communication, who could intimidate without even using a single facial expression or uttering a single word. Robb stared at the file sitting in front of him. It may as well have been blank.

The words seemed to blur and the random bits he could make out just wouldn’t register. Robb thumbed through the pages out of habit. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? 

Huffing through his nose, he flipped back to the front page and tried again to read the summary, but his eyes and his mind kept wandering to the man standing silently in his periphery. 

Annoyed with himself, Robb cleared his throat, fidgeting in his father’s uncomfortable office chair. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, holding them closed for a few extra seconds while he breathed. Hoping, like a child, that when he opened them again things would be different. 

But no.

Robb closed the file and sat up straighter in his seat. He trained his gaze on the wood grain of his father’s office door praying silently that Mr. Bolton would leave of his own accord. Maybe take pity on the new guy. But pity was not in the man’s DNA. Robb rested his hands on top of the file and idly tapped his thumbs together. If he wanted Roose gone he’d have to order him away. 

He opened his mouth, but the words refused to form.

“The takeover of Greenfork Enterprises will need to be dealt with,” Roose intoned. “Lay-offs will be required to turn a profit.”

“If we can cover expenses then the profits can wait,” Robb countered staring down at his hands. “I’d prefer we not fire people the moment we take over.”

“Trees must be pruned to promote growth,” Roose described. “This is no different—”

“I think it is,” Robb insisted, a hint of irritation coloring his tone. 

“As you wish,” Roose softly replied. Robb could tell without looking at the man that he was arching his eyebrow, something in his voice gave it away. But what exactly that eyebrow was supposed to mean...Robb had no clue.

He had known of Mr. Bolton all his life. Met him once at a gala or something his parents had hosted years ago, but despite the fact that Roose has worked for Stark Wolf Industries for decades as one of his father’s advisers, he still knew nothing about him. It was infuriating. 

Robb sat up straight in his father’s chair yanking his jittery hands off the desk. He turned his head and accidentally ended up staring at the man’s crotch, which was suddenly eye level with him. Had Roose moved closer? Did he want more too?

“And-and,” Robb swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as he met Roose’s pale, inscrutable eyes. “And tell Accounting that I will review their expense report at a later date. In the meantime, have them continue the programs my father arranged.”

Under Roose’s relentless gaze he felt small, exposed, like a little boy playing dress-up in his father’s office. Unprepared and incapable. To hide his burning cheeks, Robb jerked his head back around, eyes front, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

Was Roose pleased? Bored? Questioning his sanity? All three? It was impossible to tell. Aloof and quiet and ruthless, he was. The perfect businessman. Robb didn’t like him one bit. Nobody liked him. 

However, no one could deny that the man had gravitas. A pull. Something that hooked in your chest and reeled you in close. Made you want to hear what he said. Made you want…

Failing to be subtle, Robb scooted his seat forward desperate to hide his sudden boner under his father’s desk. His entire body felt like it was throbbing; his head, his cock, his hands. His knuckles were white with strain. “Roose,” he started, his mouth flopping open and closed as he fought to form words. “About the other night—”

“Shameful,” Roose instantly supplied. Robb bit his lip, head hanging low in mortification. “I agree. The Crownland Lakers should never have lost so steeply.”

Blinking in confusion, Robb whipped his head around and gawked up at Roose with an almost hurt expression. “No, I meant…” Robb gulped and tried again. “The night we...when you and I…”

Outwardly, Roose gave no sign of recognition, no display of emotions. Instead he merely retained his stoic, cool expression. And those eyes! 

Tearing himself away from the older man’s gaze, Robb glared at his father’s desk. This was all  _ his _ fault. With a sudden anger Robb slammed his fists into the top of his father’s desk. Why was life so fucking unfair?!

He was in his twenties! He should be out partying with Sansa! Or out clubbing with Theon! He should be on a beach somewhere hitting on gorgeous scantily clad women! Instead he’s trapped in his father’s office, sitting in his father’s uncomfortable chair, in the middle of the most awkward moment of his life with a man old enough to be his father remembering something he wished he could forget involving said older man who apparently had forgotten it!

He remembered the night so clearly: the late hour, the almost giddy feeling of being nearly finished, nearly free. The low lighting, the spectacular panoramic view of nighttime Winterfell in the background. The shaker of vodka they’d shared, the unexpected tension. Those icy blue eyes holding him still, refusing to let him go. The moment he leaned in, went for it. The feel of Roose’s stubble chafing against his own. Those thin lips giving him no trouble at all. Roose’s surprisingly warm tongue. His chin all red and raw afterwards...

“Fuck me,” Robb muttered under his breath, head in his hands. His rock hard chick still throbbing in his slacks. Roose was older, wiser, more experienced. He should’ve stopped it all before it started, should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve nipped it in the bud before he could get carried away with the heat and the moment. 

“What was that, sir?”

“Do you really not remember?!”

A slightly cool hand abruptly settled on Robb’s shoulder. “Easy, boy,” Roose quietly offered with a reassuring squeeze. Robb shuddered, his balls tingling just from that one gesture. 

He tried to think of his fiancée. Tried to picture her face; her softness, her warmth. Anything to distract him long enough for his erection to go down. It didn’t work. 

The sound of a zipper being lowered broke him out of his trance. Robb swiveled in is seat and watched transfixed as Roose ever so slowly pulled down his own zipper practically one tooth at a time. Robb gulped, mouth dry yet watering in a jumbled daze. Eventually, Roose ran out of teeth.

The first move made, Roose patted him on the shoulder and let his hand drop to his side. As silence settled over them Roose held both his hands behind his back. The meaning of the gesture was clear: your move. 

Robb glanced up at the older man, eyes wet like a puppy. Conflicted and unsure, but wanting nonetheless. “This is what you wanted that night,” Roose said, breaking the silence. 

Not a question. A simple statement of fact. “You would’ve too,” Roose continued with the barest hint of a rebuke in his voice. Rebuke for wanting or for not taking? He couldn’t tell. “Now, you can.”

Timidly, eyes firmly locked with Roose’s, Robb turned around completely, his father’s chair squeaking obnoxiously as he did so. Almost shaming him, chiding him, warning him. 

The leather creaked as Robb shifted forward, tentatively inching closer until his nose passed between the open flaps of Roose’s slacks and became buried in the man’s pubic hair. Robb shivered as he took a noisy whiff of his father’s VP’s bush. 

Of course the man didn’t bother with underwear. Robb groaned, running his nose through Roose’s groomed, wiry pubes. Roose smelled like...like the cold on a winter’s morning and that undefinable  _ man _ smell. All ball sweat and pure musk. 

Robb grabbed his cock, his erection straining against the thin material of his boxers and suit pants. He held off as best he could, squeezing his dick to maintain some control.

“You want to suck my cock.” Again, not a question. Robb’s stomach clenched at being so  _ seen _ . 

“No,” he lied, shaking his head even as he continued nuzzling the older man’s bush. Roose snorted softly. Robb blushed, turning a dozen shades of red. 

“You will suck my cock,” Roose informed him, sounding completely sure. A guaranteed thing. Not a guess or a request. 

A bolt of shame rocked through him followed immediately by a thrill of heat. Robb dropped his head, eyes half open and focused on the supple rug under Roose’s feet. “And if I won’t?”

Smugness radiated off Roose like body heat. Robb didn’t have to look up to see the smirk on the older man’s face. He could feel it. “Stupid boy,” Roose tutted. And he meant it!

Robb bit his lip, fighting back a moan he hadn’t anticipated. All his life he’d been catered to, praised. Even with his friends. There was ribbing and mocking sure, but no one ever truly  _ insulted _ him. Especially not in the office where his father was basically king. 

A warm hand settled on his shoulder again. “On your knees,” Roose directed him. Robb let go of his cock which traitorously was still hard enough to cut diamonds and silently sank to his knees. “Good boy.” 

Robb shivered head snapping up to read the man’s face since his voice told him nothing. Still a mystery. Still aloof and unreadable. Defeated, Robb lowered his gaze and saw Roose quietly draw his cock out of his slacks through the zipper.

Stupefied, Robb watched as Roose’s shaft rapidly filled out without any stimulation, without any help. Mouth hanging open, Robb studied the man’s erection, his own cock throbbing at the sight of the long, thick shaft. 

He knew from the other night that Roose was bigger than him. Had managed to brush his hand down there before being rebuffed. That instant when the bubble busted and the moment passed. 

That night though, he hadn’t  _ seen _ it. Hadn’t known just  _ how _ much bigger the man was. It seemed impossible that such an ordinary looking guy could possess such dimensions. 

“I-I can’t…I’ve never...” Robb stammered. He yanked his eyes away to look Roose head-on. “I can’t take the whole thing.”

Roose answered him with a cool smirk, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Wrap those cocksucking lips of yours around my cock and leave them there. Am I understood, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Robb replied without thinking. He saw another faint twitch of Roose’s mouth which he took to be the closest thing Roose had to a smile and shuffled closer on his knees. 

Closing his eyes, Robb stuck out his neck and gasped under his breath as his lips met warm, hard skin. He’d never gone this far with another man. A couple handjobs over the clothes with Theon had not prepared him for this. 

He flicked his tongue along the width of the shaft and finally took the oddly thinner tip into his mouth. Finally he was sucking his first cock.

“My cock doesn’t leave your mouth, boy, until I am finished,” Roose warmed him. Robb met his stern gaze and nodded. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

Without another word, Roose grabbed a handful of Robb’s hair at the crown of his head tightly and stepped forward. Startled Robb made a questioning noise in the back of his throat and hurriedly shuffled backwards to keep out from Roose. The older man kept walking, kept pushing him back until his neck met the blunt edge of his father’s desk. 

He was having sex in his father’s office! He was having sex with another man, in his father’s office! He was having sex with his father’s VP of Communications in his father’s office! Robb groaned, cheeks flaring pink. 

But Roose didn’t stop. He kept inching forward, shoving more and more of his cock into Robb’s unprepared mouth. He still had a hold of him painfully by the hair and used his leverage to tilt Robb’s head back on top of the desk. 

Robb pushes helplessly at the older man’s thighs, forced to spread his legs further apart to let Roose between them. He looked up at the man. “Such a pretty boy,” Roose taunted. “A pretty, stupid, little boy and nothing else.”

If he could’ve Robb would’ve shaken his head no and argued with the man. A feat impossible to accomplish with a cock sliding towards your virgin throat. “And now, you’re just a pretty hole for my cock,” Roose added. “A hole I intend to use.”

Concern sparked across Robb’s upturned face. His cock, though, which some point had wilted, twitched in his trousers. Robb clutched at Roose’s slacks scrambling for a hold as Roose pressed the head of his cock into his throat. 

Robb gagged, but that didn’t deter Roose at all. “You are just a hole,” he reminded him, hips pushing forward. 

Eyes watering uncontrollably, Robb tried to breathe, swallowing Roose’s cock in the process. Robb whined, squirming under the older man attempting to wriggle out of his iron grip. His heart thundered in panic. 

Abruptly he inhaled through his nose and realized he wasn’t being drowned by cock. Roose sank himself lower until finally Robb’s nose bumped into his pelvis. “Such a warm hole,” Roose sneered under his breath. “Such a good boy.”

Roose rolled his hips in a wavy circle with far more range than a man of his age and upbringing should’ve been capable of. Robb gripped the man’s suit tightly and held on as best he could as Roose set a brutal, unloving pace. Robb moaned like a slut, his cock at full mast and straining against the seam of his slacks.

He lost all sense of time since his attention was focused solely on breathing and staying alive. He caught on to breathing through his nose on the upstroke quick, but still he messed up sometimes. Saliva dribbled out of his mouth almost constantly, leaving his chin and collar damp. 

The office phone chirped and Robb started, thrown off rhythm. Roose slowed but didn’t stop. Robb heard Roose press the speaker button and keeled pathetically in alarm. “We’re busy, Ms. Cray.”

Roose disconnected the call and Robb sagged in relief. After the interruption it didn’t take Roose long to finish. He came almost silently with the barest grunt, unloading down Robb’s convulsing throat. 

Once done, Roose stood there waiting his cock still in Robb’s mouth while he slowly softened. Flaccid, he removed his cock and yanked a panting, wheezing Robb onto his feet. He crashed their lips together in the briefest kiss and then grabbed Robb’s cock out of nowhere and squeezed. To his shock, Robb came instantly. “Hmph,” Roose tutted. “Creaming your knickers like the little boy you are.” 

Robb gasped, clutching the edge of his father’s desk for dear life when Roose suddenly released him and stepped away. In just a few moments Roose sweepers his cock back into his slacks and rezipped looking none the worse for wear. 

Meanwhile, Robb’s face was wet with tears and snot and drool. His collar was damp with it all, his warm come rapidly cooling, soiling his boxers and slacks. He looked a wreck and felt like one too.

“I’ll send your regards to Accounting and Greenfork Enterprises,” Roose announced, flatly. He walked around Robb and the desk, snatching up the unread file and leaving before Robb could think again. 

“What the fuck,” Robb swore, his voice ragged and strained. He cleared his throat a couple times and loosened his tie. He took stock of his ruined clothes and wiped his face off with his tie. Might as well.

He sent his assistant a text requesting she have a batch of clothes sent up and then slumped into his father’s desk chair in a daze. “What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos welcome!


	12. Be Bold: A Jonmund Fragment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is in college taking an art class. Tormund is the model of course.
> 
> Jonmund Week 2020 Day 5: Model AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I could've finished more of my Jonmund before posting and before Jonmund Week started but, alas alack, things didn't go that way, so here...have another fragment of a story. ENJOY!
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcome!

The art room was a relatively large space compared to most classrooms on campus with one corner taken by Professor Aemon’s office, another by a walk-in supply closet. One area was set aside for display of various artworks by various artists with the rest of the space left open for students: worktables, easels, model stands, pottery wheels and kilns, etc…

Tonight for their Drawing From Life seminar the usual clutter of furniture and materials had been cleared out to make space for a circle of worktables centered on a small platform their model would pose on. Jon took a place to the left of the platform, choosing to sit at the workstation with the wobbly, off-kilter stool that most everybody else avoided like the plague. 

Most of his classmates were already present with their sketchbooks and supplies all laid out. He nodded hello to Missandei who sat directly across the circle from him. On either side of her were Kayl and Elden, both of whom were constantly trying to get with her. Jon shook his head. With Grey in the picture these two art dorks could never hope to stand a chance.

Two seats down on his right was Quaithe, the only student on the whole of campus from Asshai and the only one to never go out for drinks with the rest of the Wednesday Night Gang. Tesha, Clatton, and Jardan were knee deep in some sort of argument to his left and the last seat beside him belonged to Pip. Or would when he managed to arrive. 

Professor Aemon toddled into the room from his private studio cane in one hand, being helped along by the their TA, Grass. The pair made it halfway across the room towards Aemon’s lecturn-slash-worktable when Pip sneaked in. The door crashed shut behind him ruining his cover completely. All heads except Aemon’s turned towards him and he flushed, scurrying over to Jon’s side with his head down. “Now, that we are all assembled,” Aemon announced in his breathy voice with a hint of reproach towards Pip and his constant tardiness. “We may begin.”

Pip excitedly smacked Jon’s shoulder wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. He had been hyped for this week’s seminar since the start of the semester. Rumor had it that the usual model for Drawing From Life, Ros, was always up for a dalliance if she liked your work. Especially with the nudes. Jon gave him a weak grin and a nod in return. 

Drawing people was not his strong suit. Fantasy landscapes and mythical beasts and surrealism were more in his wheelhouse. When he tried drawing regular people they ended up looking more like misshapen zombies or half finished homunculi. This quarter was going to be rough.

“Tonight,” Aemon continued, once he was seated in his high-backed, cushioned armchair. “You will be working from a live model in various poses and various states of dress. But before you get too carried away with celebrating, Master Pip, I must inform you that our usual model is unable to sit for us this class. Instead, our model will be a nice young man from Ruddy.” 

That took the wind out of Pip’s sails, but Clatton perked up at the change of inspiration. Jon sighed, ready as he ever would be to mangle some poor sod’s likeness. Professor Aemon arranged his supplies and waved the TA away. Grass took the cue and walked back to the office, nodding his head at whoever was inside. “We’re ready for you.”

Grass scurried back to his own station next to Aemon’s. Pip set his tools out with palpable disappointment and Jon, along with the rest of the class besides his fraternity brother turned to see who would emerge from the studio. Jon gawked as a giant bear of a man crossed the threshold. He took a long minute gazing from the man’s booted feet slowly up to his wild mane of flaming red hair. Jon gulped.

Okay.

So he wasn’t actually ginormous. 

Intimidating? Yes. Tall? Certainly. But not outrageously so. 

He walked with an easy confidence towards the center of the circle. Broad and bearded. Not necessarily handsome in the slick, lean male model way. More of the rugged, wild, manly-man look to him. Jon cleared his throat as softly as he could as the man passed him, blushing while his fingers tapped nervously on his knee. 

Under his pencils, this man, normal in possibly every way, would undoubtedly turn into a ferocious monstrosity. He was doomed! He was absolutely going to fail this class. 

Spinning back in his seat, Jon couldn’t help but notice that Clatton looked a bit disappointed now too. Apparently, he wasn’t into gingers. Or maybe he didn’t go for older men. Or possibly, he simply wasn’t into steel-toed combat boots. 

“Class, this is Tormund,” Aemon introduced. “He has agreed to sit for us today and has graciously offered to sit privately for any of you who might need more time to complete your sketches. That, of course, will be at his discretion. You may arrange times with him at the end of today’s session.”

The energy of the room shifted. Everyone now was focused on their model and the work at hand. 

“Accuracy, though admirable, is not always essential,” Aemon reminded them. “However, for this portion of the class, anatomy and accuracy will be weighted more heavily than artistic representation.”

Steeling himself, Jon took a deep breath. Sometimes it seemed like Aemon’s advice was always directed at him. He was under no delusions that his work was often the least developed, least polished compared to that of his classmates. Of course, most of them had probably been doing art since they could hold a crayon. Even Pip, who as a music major, was only in the class for his required non-music art credit had been encouraged to pursue his creative gifts by his family. 

Meanwhile, he had been given toy soldiers to play with instead of the colored pencils and sketchbook he had asked for. Stark men are military, through and through. His uncles were in the service, or had been, his father had been KIA. Even Robb was in uniform now. But not him.

“Be brave,” Aemon offered to his students in lieu of good luck. To the model, he added, “First position, if you please, Tormund.”

Tormund removed his peacoat and draped it across the chair provided for him. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his long-sleeved shirt exposing some of his bushy chest hair the same red as his beard and shook out his limbs before taking the appointed position. He raised one arm up over his head and leaned his weight forward with one knee bent looking like a Sky God readying to smit some poor mortal with a bolt of lightning. 

The room filled with the sound of pencils scratching paper as his classmates sprang into action. Jon moved more slowly. He stared a bit too long at the model’s chest, his mouth suddenly very dry. He reached down into his bag and grabbed his water bottle, taking a swig and returning it before picking up his favorite, much-used sketch pencil. Looking up from under his eyelashes he let his hand trace the sharp planes and curves of the model’s thick torso.


	13. Sciam Summer Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott visits home during the summer following Liam's senior year. He gives Liam a little incentive to pursue higher education. AKA a blowjob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a huge shipper of Sciam but the Scott Slash Network Discord was chatting about it on the NSFW channel the other day and then this happened. What can you do? Here. Have a smutty drabble. Enjoy!

Liam settled back in his chair, no longer following his game. His character died. He dropped his controller. Hands free, he grabbed the back of Scott’s head. He yanked and pushed Scott up and down his thick cock by his overgrown curls. 

No one had ever been able to deepthroat him before. Always said he was too big. Whatever. Scott wasn’t having any trouble. Liam groaned. “God, you’re a good cocksucker.”

Scott moaned around his shaft. Liam gasped, shoving Scott down all the way. “Do that again,” he demanded. Scott did. Liam moaned, hips pushing up off his seat to get as deep as he could down Scott’s expert throat. “Do you even go to class or do you just spend your days sucking dick?”

Liam fucked into Scott’s throat. 

Being eighteen freaking ruled! 

He couldn’t wait to go to college!

“Dude,” he warned. 

He unloaded and Scott gulped it all down like a pro.


	14. It is best to meet the universe with an empty bladder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki spend some quality time on board the Statesmen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a John Scalzi quote. 
> 
> The idea for this fic popped into my head after reading a discussion thread on a Teen Wolf Discourse NSFW channel about watersports/piss play/golden showers. I've been rereading some books on Norse mythology and then this ficlet happened. Enjoy! 
> 
> Comments and kudos welcome!

The sound of the engines permeated the ship filling the background with their soft hum. Even in Thor’s quarters. The sound almost seemed amplified like the corridors and materials had been arranged specifically for that purpose. No doubt a special feature in the Grandmaster’s array of orgy ships. 

Thor groaned too loudly, stroking his cock furiously as the warm spray splashed onto him, soaking into his tunic and dousing his exposed small hairs. Loki shushed him. “Do you want the entire ship to hear you? Hear you moaning for my piss?”

Thor bit his lip, blushing as he smothered another moan. Loki smirked, staring down at his wet brother, his flaccid cock in hand hanging out of his skintight trousers. Loki stepped closer and released his shaft allowing his stream to spill directly onto his brother’s throbbing cock. Thor whimpered, the sound of piss splashing onto his leather covered crotch loud in his ears. “Brother…”

“Hush, Thor,” Loki reiterated, grinning despite himself. He cupped the back of his brother’s head and pressed Thor’s face into his crotch. “Or do you want our people to find you wallowing in your brother’s piss?”

Thor groaned into his brother’s cool skin, lips brushing against Loki’s dense, but groomed pubes. He planted a kiss there and lovingly mouthed the base of his brother’s cock while his hand squished and sloshed around his cock. “I-I am near, brother,” he sputtered.

Loki scritched the crown of his brother’s head with a wicked smile on his face. “Then by all means, my king, relieve yourself.”

Panting harshly into his brother’s fragrant skin, Thor quickly brought himself off with a stilted moan, his come splattering noisily onto his uncomfortably wet tunic. Loki petted the back of his brother’s head, trailing his trimmed nails along his brother’s scalp. An unfortunately easy feat with his brother’s new lack of hair. 

As Thor caught his breath, deeply inhaling his brother’s heady musk, Loki’s stream slowly petered out. A stream became a trickle, became a squirt, became a dribbling. Ducking his head, Thor wrapped his lips around the thick head of his brother’s soft cock, suckling the last few drops of Loki’s golden shower directly from the source. “Such a dirty, thirsting thing you are, Thor,” Loki quietly cooed. 

Thor flicked his tongue into his brother’s slit and whined softly. Blushing red, he pulled away until his head bumped gently into the bulkhead behind him. He sat in a puddle of quickly cooling piss, soaked to the skin, and smiled up at his oddly accommodating brother. “Thank you, brother.”

Loki arched his brow and smirked. “Now, I believe it is my turn to seek gratification. Don’t you agree, dear brother?”

“Yes. Of course,” Thor hastily seconded. He made to stand. “Shall I—“

Loki put a hand on his shoulder and pushed his brother back down. “Stay right where you are, brother,” Loki instructed. Thor settled back into the floor squishing with every move. Loki grinned, pleased beyond words with how pliable his brother was turning out to be. 

Gently, Loki pinched his brother’s chin and tilted his head upwards. “Remain like so,” Loki directed, while his hand went to his cock. Thor met his brother’s gaze. 

Beyond ready for his own release, Loki smacked his rapidly hardening cock against his brother’s cheeks and his lips. They both moaned. Loki tapped every side of his brother’s upturned face. Thor sighed softly as Loki's warm sac bounced against his chin then his lips in time to his brother’s crude movements. Instinctively Thor opened his mouth and caught one orb, sucking it between his lips. 

Loki gasped in pleasant surprise taking the opportunity to rest his cock atop his brother’s face. He slowly rolled his hips, pumped his cock, his fingers knocking into Thor’s forehead on every downstroke. “Helpful as always, brother,” Loki lauded, his tone a mix of mocking praise. 

Thor panted spitting out his brother’s wet testicle. He flicked his tongue along the seam and then suckled the other slightly smaller orb. Loki gasped as his brother lightly tugged at his sensitive skin with his teeth. “So obliging,” he commented.

Speeding up his strokes, Loki stepped back. His testicle slipped out of his brother’s mouth and he pointed his cock at Thor’s face. “I’m near, brother,” he echoed. Thor nodded once and leaned his head back, his eye closing as he waited for his brother’s release. 

“Keep your eye open,” Loki hurriedly demanded. “Watch me mark you with my seed, brother.”

Thor’s eye flew open, flushing pink. He moaned as his brother erupted onto his face in hot, heavy spurts. Loki clenched his jaw, panting and hissing with each breath. Come splattered against Thor’s forehead, landing in his hair, on his nose, his cheeks, dangling from his chin. Devious depraved Loki aimed and unloaded the last of his release directly onto his brother’s eyepatch. 

The two Odinsons moaned nearly in unison.

Finished, Loki shook off the rest and carefully stepped away from his piss stinking, come-covered king and brother. He caught the drop of his seed about to fall from his brother’s chin and tasted it. “Delicious, as always,” he murmured. 

Thor blinked, careful to keep still and not have his brother’s seed accidentally drip into his good eye. He held his hand out for assistance. “Brother…”

“But you reek,” Loki teasingly protested. Thor scowled up at him and Loki grinned extending his hand to help his brother up off the cold, wet floor. 

Once on his feet again, Thor tugged at his clammy, clinging trousers and tunic. “This is all your doing,” Thor declared.

“My doing?” Loki quibbled. “You were the one—“

Pointedly ignoring his brother’s argument, Thor smeared some of his brother’s seed into his mouth and grimaced. “How can you abide such sourness?”

“I could ask the same,” Loki rebutted, waving his hand at his brother’s wet dark clothes. 

Thor smiled, hands going to his hips. “Perhaps you could assist me in the showers, brother?”

“Haven’t I already,” Loki quipped. 

“You have soiled me,” Thor claimed. “And now you will help to clean me.”

“Oh will I?”

“As your king, I command you.” Thor held his ground despite looking and smelling like a Denokian housewhore. He crossed his arms. “And as your brother, I demand it.”

“Command, demand. So authoritative,” Loki cooed. He swanned over to his drenched and smelly brother, gripping Thor’s chin again. “I know better.”

Thor blushed red. Quickly he wrapped his strong arms around his brother’s waist and pulled him close. “Brother…”

“Oh, how I adore it when you beg,” Loki mused under his breath as he leaned in and shared a long, messy, sticky kiss with his brother and king. The ship hummed all around them as the pair gradually made their way to Thor’s private shower and another round of debauchery. 


	15. Robbse (Roose x Robb) A Messy Day At The Office Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb is sick of corporate meetings and conference rooms. Luckily or unluckily Roose pays him a visit. Sex ensues.

Robb gathered the papers spread out on top of the conference table in front of him, all his notes and reports and projections, shuffling them all into a single stack. That done, he sighed and sagged into his father’s seat at the head of the table. Corporate meetings. Whose idea were they? Why? Just, why?

They were all one company but they might as well have been rival street gangs the way some of his executives acted. Robb closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had never imagined hating anything as much as he hated meetings. A bunch of old dudes in suits arguing and posturing and scheming for hours. 

Ugh.

While he sat in weary contemplation, the conference room door opened softly and someone quietly stepped inside. Robb tensed. Was five minutes to himself too much to ask for? He kept his eyes closed and said nothing. Apparently his ‘five minutes’ were over before they even started. 

The conference room door clicked shut. “That was quite a display,” Roose remarked in his damned quiet voice. Robb squeezed his free hand into a fist, refusing to squirm in his seat but his balls tingled just hearing the man’s low, unhurried voice. He felt like one of those Pavlovian dogs. “Certainly memorable if not effective.”

“What do you want?”

“Our fearless leader speaks,” Roose taunted. 

Robb dropped the hand from his face and finally looked at his unexpected guest. He squinted at Roose coolly, jaw clenched in irritation. He was in no mood for insubordination. “If this is about your prison proposal—”

“Stand up, boy,” Roose interjected, his stern tone colored with a hint of disdain. Robb glared at him, but even so his cock instantly began to harden in his slacks. Just like a trained pet. 

The two men stared at each other. Roose quirked his eyebrow in expectation. Robb ground his teeth, breathing sharply through his nose. They both knew by now after all these months how this would go, but Robb had to fight back, didn’t he?

“I only have half an hour before my next—”

“You heard me, boy,” Roose said, interrupting him again. Robb lowered his eyes, blankly gazing at the grain of the wooden table in front of him, the stack of meaningless papers, his company pen. He felt his face flush red from his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears. He stood. His erection stood out, plain as day tenting in his trousers something awful. Robb instinctively buttoned his suit jacket fully aware that doing so would do nothing to hide his shameful boner. 

Roose stepped slowly around the conference room table, passing behind empty seats like a predator stalking through the grass. Robb kept his eyes down until Roose arrived standing directly in front of him. 

Abruptly, the older man reached out and grabbed Robb’s junk. Robb gulped audibly, instinctively bucking his hips into Roose’s firm hand. With a mean smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth Roose let go of his stiff shaft. He whipped his hand further back, fingers digging into the crotch of Robb’s slacks. Roose grabbed his sensitive balls and squeezed. Robb mewled in pain, his cock throbbing harder nonetheless. “Are you through being an idiotic brat?”

“Yes, sir,” Robb hastily responded in one great huff. His face burning red. He hunched his shoulders but held his hands at bay by his sides. 

“Good boy,” Roose muttered softly. “Glad to see you aren’t entirely stupid.”

“Thank you, sir,” Robb mumbled, panting as Roose gentled and began rolling his balls in his palm instead of squeezing. 

“Undo your belt,” Roose commanded. Robb’s hands shook, slowing him down, but in just a few moments he managed to unbuckle his belt. He tentatively met Roose’s gaze, his heart pounding in his ears. 

Sharing illicit rendezvous in his father’s office was one thing, but here? In the conference room? With anyone liable to just walk right in? They only had thirty minutes, less than that now, before more executives started pouring in for another god awful, mind numbing meeting. 

“I’m going to bend you over this table and have you. Right here, right now. No matter who comes through those doors. Do you understand me, boy?”

“Roose…”

“Unbutton your slacks and pull down your zipper,” Roose directed, not at all interested in listening to Robb’s doubts and uncertainty. When he didn’t move fast enough, Roose tugged sharply at his balls. Robb gasped, his hands flying to his trousers to obey. 

“You will not touch your cock,” Roose intoned, twisting that last word as if calling Robb’s manhood a cock was being overly generous. Robb swallowed a moan and silently nodded his understanding. His face felt like it was on fire and his dick throbbed all the harder as shame settled in his gut. 

Roose let him go and Robb sagged in relief. The older man smirked, patting Robb on the back once with something almost like affection but hollower. He cupped Robb’s neck and guided the younger man down until his cheek was pressed flat to the table. 

“Never forget that you are just a hole,” Roose stated, quietly. The hand not pinning Robb to the table slipped under the waistband of his trousers and briefs, blunt fingers seeking out his asshole. “A pretty one, I grant you. But a hole nevertheless.”

Robb groaned as dry fingers tapped against his rim, he squirmed under Roose’s hand. “Don’t fret, boy,” Roose said, amusement hiding behind his stoic expression. “I’m not interested in breaking your cunt-hole just yet.”

The cool hands disappeared. Robb panted, hearing Roose’s zipper being pulled down. It shouldn’t have gotten him excited, but somehow it did. Robb shifted his feet, his cock uncomfortably pinned between him and the table. 

They didn’t have time for proper prep, so no matter what Roose did this was still going to burn and hurt. Robb clutched the edges of the conference table as best he could, shivering as his trousers and briefs were yanked down over the swell of his ass. 

One hand spread his cheeks apart holding him open. Robb hissed as one finger smeared cold lube around his hole and then dipped inside. In and out. Back and forth. 

Another finger was added and Robb sputtered. He wasn’t wet enough yet. Not to take Roose. “Please,” he begged. 

“Such a noisy hole, today,” Roose quipped. He withdrew his fingers and stepped over to Robb’s side. Roose grabbed the knot of Robb’s tie and yanked the silky material out from under the younger man. “Open your mouth.”

Robb whined in the back of his throat, but complied and Roose stuffed the tie into his mouth. “It stays until I finish,” Roose commented. Robb made a noise, muffled but assenting that veered into a yelp when Roose swatted his ass with his bare hand. Robb immediately got the message and arched his back, presenting his ass like a proper hole should. 

Roose forced in his two lubed fingers again and quickly scissored him open wasting no more time on pleasantries. Robb felt the head of Roose’s cock smack his hole and bucked, tensing in apprehension. “Relax, boy,” Roose demanded. “Your cunt-hole belongs to me and I take care of what’s mine.”

With a muted sob, Robb did his best to relax as Roose’s thick cock started pressing against his rim. 

Sweat beaded at his temples as the stretch and burn coursed through his entire body. Robb whimpered, fingers fidgeting around the table edges as Roose held his hips and entered him, slow and steady. Unrelenting. 

Tears stung his eyes and Robb let them fall, sniffling softly before whining behind his silky gag. “Such a good boy,” Roose sardonically praised. “Such a tight cunt. Your best hole by far. Certainly the most useful.”

Robb groaned, rocking his aching, half-wilted cock into the unyielding tabletop and pushing his ass back for more. The pain diminished but didn’t fade completely as Roose pushed himself flush with Robb’s backside. His cock wept while he did. 

“Give me your hands, boy.” Robb unclenched his sweaty hands from the edges of the table and held them behind his back. The touch of metal and Robb heard two clicks. He tried to yank his hands apart, but the cuffs held. He complained wordlessly from behind his gag to no avail. “The sooner I finish, the sooner you’ll be free.”

Robb stilled And went quiet. Roose grabbed him by the hips once more and set a brutal pace. Robb screamed, toes and fingers curling uselessly as Roose abused his hole. His left leg twitched, lifting off the floor as the older man hammered his prostate with cruel precision. 

“Simmer down, boy,” Roose sneered, tossing his own tie up over his shoulder as he thrusted into his interim boss. “Or do you want everyone to hear what a noisy bitch you are?”

That made Robb quiet instantly, desperate to keep his voice down while getting fucked rough and raw by his VP of Comms. He let out ragged breaths through his nose and worked his hole the way he knew Roose liked, lifting his ass up to meet Roose’s savage thrusts.

Roose leaned over him, bringing his lips to Robb’s ear. “Good, Hole,” he praised. “I think that’s what I’ll call you from now on. After all it’s what you are: a hole. A hold for my cock.”

Robb flushed. Roose smirked. He pulled down Robb’s collar as far as it would go and bit into the smooth skin of the younger man’s neck. Robb squealed, head snapping up off the table as he unexpectedly creamed his briefs. His eyes rolled back in his head as Roose continued using his hole and laving a mark on his throat at the same time.

Not long after, Roose straightened back up and gripped Robb tightly by the hips as he came inside him with two soft grunts. Robb shuddered, goosebumps breaking out all over him. 

They remained in this position until Roose finally went soft and pulled out. He helped Robb stand up and took his time redressing the younger man before uncuffing him. Robb spat out his tie and rubbed at his reddened wrists. “What the hell?!”

“You have two minutes before the Blackwood executives arrive,” Roose casually informed him while doing up his own zipper, his cock safely tucked away. He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and tossed it at Robb’s angered face. “I suggest you use that time to clean up before they see you looking like the cheap whore you are.”

With that last parting shot Roose left. Robb slammed his hands down onto the tabletop and breathed. As he calmed down, he wiped his face dry with the handkerchief and tried to unruffle his suit. 

His ass burned. Already he could feel Roose’s come starting to leak out of his overworked hole. He’d never be able to sit through his possibly hours long meeting on the upcoming merger with Blackwood Industries. 

His voice was rough from screaming. His tie was wet with spit. He had a love bite already bruising on his neck just high enough to peek out from under his collar. And he had a rapidly cooling wet spot in his briefs, that was also rapidly spreading into his slacks. He looked exactly like a man who’d just been rawdogged in a conference room without enough lube.

“Fuck, Bolton,” Robb swore. 

The conference room door swung open and Robb tucked the soiled handkerchief into his jacket pocket as executives swarmed into the room. He plastered on his best ‘no I haven’t been having sex’ grin and greeted his guests with as little movement as he could manage. 

Throughout the whole meeting his one and only thought was: fuck Roose Bolton.


	16. A Swesson Smut Not!fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not!fic that’s basically just an idea I’ve been having for awhile and need to get rid of. Swesson.

I have this idea and I’ve had it for a couple years now and haven’t been able to do anything with it, so here it is:

In the episode _It’s A Terrible Life_, we are introduced to Dean Smith and Sam Wesson, right? Well, this idea is a continuation of that AU without the reveal/ghost attack stuff. Sam Wesson still quits and goes postal on his company computer. Months pass. Dean Smith goes about his business wondering from time to time whatever happened to that giant in the tight yellow shirt? 

One night as he’s working late, Dean decides to take a break and ~naughty, naughty~ masturbate in his office. He goes looking up porn and stumbles across a new vid one with that guy from the elevator in the thumbnail. Dean clicks the link. Sam is even beefier now, going by the name Gunn Smith, talking to a guy off camera about being a bodybuilder and does some poses after taking off his shirt. Dean can’t believe that a) this guy stole his last name for his pornstar alias; and b) that this guy is somehow even bigger than he had been; and c) how incredibly turned on he is watching Sam flex and pose, showing off all those ‘gains’. 

They bring in the girls, plural, and have a long sequence of them worshipping ‘Gunn’s’ muscles. Then the good stuff starts and Sam is an animal banging one chick standing up and then another against the wall and then the third on the floor. He’s wild! Relentless. Powerful. Gorgeous. And Dean comes so hard he accidentally coats his computer keyboard in jizz. The video plays on as Dean tries to clean up his mess with whatever random stuff he has on hand. Ends up having to use his tie to get some of it. 

The video ends with a preview of Sam’s next video: more posing, more flexing, more rough sex with multiple partners and more close ups of that glorious dick of his. Dean Smith can’t wait to watch!


	17. Scackson Mpreg Not!fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Jackson learn how to full shift into wolves and accidentally produce a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once read a fic where a character (I think an OC) struggled with dysphoria because they were a different gender than their wolf self. I don’t remember anything else about the fic, but full credit to whoever you are who wrote it. I took that idea and ran with it, so thank you!
> 
> Kudos and comments welcome as always!

This idea popped into my head last night. I don’t know why, but it did, so here we go…

Scott and Jackson are together, have been since their senior year of high school. They go to college together and live together and everything. Once a month, on the full moon they always go back to Beacon Hills to spend the night in the Preserve with all their pack mates. Now that things have settled down the full moons are less a violent spree and more of a rollick. 

Derek teaches Scott how to do a full shift and after he succeeds, Scott teaches Jackson how to do it. Once they’re both capable of the full shift they prefer spending their full moons in that form. It’s weird for Jackson because in his full shift his body is female, but most of the time it doesn’t matter. At least until he and Scott start fooling around as wolves too. 

On full moon nights as the moon reaches its peak they head out just the two of them. They sniff each other, circling, lick at each other, and as soon as Scott’s canine cock unsheathes they go at it. He mounts Jackson and they don’t stop until his knot expands. Over and over. 

In the morning they wake up naked in the woods wrapped around each other sleepy and sated. At first it’s weird for Jackson, having a pussy when he’s a wolf and all, but he quickly develops a taste for it. He starts to bottom more and more exclusively because he craves that feeling of fullness, of having Scott inside him. 

All goes well until one day they wake up and Jackson is stuck as a wolf. He can’t switch back. He whines, obviously freaked out. Scott comforts him as best he can and calls Derek when they get home. Unfortunately, Derek doesn’t have a clue as to why Jackson can’t switch back since he clearly wants to, so the couple head over to the clinic and see Deaton. 

Deaton does an examination. He finds nothing wrong. “I wouldn’t be concerned,” he says, running his fingers through Jackson’s fur. “This happens often with male pregnancies.”

And of course Scott and Jackson are both like WTF?!?!

“This occurs frequently with Alpha mates of the same sex as their Alpha,” Deaton explains. “Their full shift accommodates to help grow the pack.”

Jackson whines. 

“Grow the pack?” Scott asks in confusion.

“He’ll be able to return to human form in a few weeks,” Deaton continues. “Once the implantation process is completed.”

“Implantation?”

“Yes, the process through which the fetus connects to the parent’s body so that it can absorb nutrients and grow,” Deaton describes. Seeing the lost look on Scott’s face he adds, “Jackson is pregnant.”

“Oh my god,” Scott mutters, shocked. Jackson yips sadly. Scott pets him. “How? I mean—what?”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Deaton assures them. “Jackson will be able to shift back once the placenta and umbilical cord are fully formed. After that his pregnancy should run its course naturally. Though of course, it will progress at a faster rate since both of you are werewolves. In the end, he’ll need to be in his full shift for the delivery. Unless you would prefer to have a C-section. But that’s up to you. Bye.”

Scott takes Jackson home and they sit with this life changing, mind blowing turn of events. Jackson is distressed, but Scott cuddles him and shushes him and promises that they will talk about everything once Jackson becomes human again. 

As promised, they do talk after Jackson turns back to himself. He’s not showing yet, but he can feel the fetus inside him or thinks he can. They’ve talked about kids and marriage and what not but they had agreed to wait until after they graduated college before making any major decisions. (Wha, wha)

But before Scott can even work up the courage to ask Jackson tells him that he’s keeping the baby. He wants a family so bad. A real one. He never imagined actually producing said family but for once being a werewolf actually does him a favor. He wants to have kids and now he physically can. He gets to carry their child and nurse them once they’re born. It makes him happy in a way, deep down that he never could’ve anticipated. 

Scott of course is thrilled beyond belief. He wants kids too. Didn’t expect them so soon, but he can smell the contentment and joy in his boyfriend and he feels the same way. They’re going to be parents! He calls up Stiles and his Mom immediately to share the good news and after them the rest of the pack. Everyone is rightfully excited and happy for them once they get over the weirdness. Though of course there are doubts and concerns shared by some. 

Jackson gets through his pregnancy, partially glad he can let go a little bit and indulge his appetite now that he doesn’t need to be in shape for sports. He gains weight as he should, sleeps often, usually with Scott holding him, and goes into labor on time. 

The C-section goes down at the hospital with Scott’s mom and Deaton taking point. Jackson recovers quickly with only the lightest scar on his belly as he holds his newborn baby girl. 

They name her Karissa Marie McCall. And she is beautiful.

The first of many...


End file.
